


Worth Fighting For

by Rhoa Lajak (cw151)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, ish, set after the Battle of Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 11:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18619801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cw151/pseuds/Rhoa%20Lajak
Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Winterfell, Arya comes to terms with what Gendry is to her.





	1. Chapter 1

Arya’s shoulder was searing with pain. The giant cut on her thigh pulsated hotly with every step she took, and it felt like she was limping because of it. The noises around her sounded dull and far away, while her ragged breaths seemed incredibly loud.

 

She stopped to look around. She felt like she was drunk; her field of vision had become a narrow tunnel, and she had difficulty seeing – _understanding_ – what it was that she was looking at.

 

She bit her lip to drown out her shoulder practically screaming so that she could focus on what was in front of her.

 

_Dead bodies, of course. Everywhere_. Wights, people. Northerners. Dothraki. Unsullied. Podrick. That commander named Greyworm. Arya knew that she should be touched, sad even, about the last two. And she was, but she didn’t have time for this. She had to –

 

_People screaming in pain from their injuries_. Some of them soldiers, some of them just smallfolk and lords and their families who’d armed themselves to defeat the Dead. Successfully. But at an immense cost. Other people, many of them women and children, were scurrying around to help the injured.

 

Brienne was just helping up a man and noticed Arya in the process. For a second, Arya just stared at the vivid blue of Brienne’s usual alert gaze. Then she slowly realized that Brienne seemed to be calling something to her, and that her eyes had become worried.

 

Arya shook her head – at least she thought she did, she wasn’t quite sure, every fibre of her body was hurting and she was trying so hard to stay focused – and turned to continue walking.

 

She’d been right. She was dragging her injured leg.

 

It didn’t matter.

 

Suddenly, a flash went through her whole body when she saw Jon and Sansa speaking to Bran in his wheelchair. Bran seemed wary and strangely old, but Jon and Sansa looked like they had sustained no major injuries.

 

Good. Arya sighed inwardly and continued her path forward, past them.

 

_Fire_. Lots of it, in the courtyard. Being fought by several Northerners with heaps of snow.

 

Arya stumbled and let out a curse. She was getting desperate, and she tried to focus even more as her eyes sprang around the yard.

 

_Lady Mormont directing her men to build stretchers_. The Hound sitting down, his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. Tormund carrying someone Arya didn’t know towards the healing rooms, which were already overflowing with people.

Suddenly, she saw him. He was propped up on a low cart, motionless, his eyes closed. A trail of blood was running from a huge wound on the right side of his forehead down his ashen cheek and nose, dripping on to his coat.

 

Arya limped over to him, nearly falling over her own feet several times in the process. She could tell that her body was stretched far beyond its limit at this point, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.

 

When she finally reached Gendry, she cupped his left cheek and used her other hand to check for his breathing. It was faint, but it was there. Arya let out a sob.

 

“HEALERS!” she shouted raspily over her shoulder. “HEALERS, HELP!”

 

Her hand dropped on to his, and she held on to it for dear life as she waited for the healers to make their way over to her.

 

“Not today,” she whispered. “Please, not today.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Ser Brienne, have you seen Arya?” 

 

Brienne stopped short and turned towards Lady Sansa, who was quickly walking towards her, Jon Snow in tow. 

Brienne shifted uncomfortably. 

 

“We heard that she was injured severely but we can’t find her in the healing rooms,” Jon added when they reached her. 

 

Brienne nodded brusquely. 

“Yes, she was. Severely injured. Her wounds have been treated, and she should be in her room right now to rest,” she supplied curtly, hoping that she could leave it at that. She really didn’t want to get involved in it all.

 

Unfortunately, Lady Sansa knew her too well. 

 

“What?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

 

Brienne cleared her throat. 

 

“She is not alone. That smith named Gendry took a blow to his head. Lady Arya refused to leave his side. When she heard that the healers wanted to tie him to a chair to keep him upright because of his wound, because there were no more beds or stretchers in the healing room, she demanded – or rather, commanded – that he be put in her bed.” 

 

Lady Sansa and Jon exchanged a bewildered look. 

 

“And she stayed with him there?” Lady Sansa asked, puzzled. 

“Yes,” Brienne replied. After a pause, she added. “Lady Arya promised me that she would drink the milk of the poppy the healers prepared for her once we left. She’d refused to do so before.”

 

Lady Sansa and Jon exchanged another look. 

 

“Thank you, Brienne,” Sansa said, and she and Jon quickly made their way towards the stairs to the upper levels of the castle. 

 

“I had no idea that these two even knew each other,” Jon said quietly as he and Sansa made their way through the hallway that lead to Arya’s room.

“Neither did I,” Sansa replied as she turned towards Jon when they reached the door to Arya’s room. They kept looking at each other when Jon knocked. Sansa raised an eyebrow when there was no answer. Jon pressed his lips together and swiftly opened the door. 

 

He didn’t really know what he’d expected to see, but this was certainly not it. 

 

As Brienne had said, Gendry was in Arya’s bed, propped up with several pillows, a thick bandage around his head. The covers were tugged up to his chest, and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. 

Arya, too was sleeping soundly, an empty cup of milk of the poppy on the bedside table. She, too was sitting up on the bed, her legs crossing Gendry’s on top of his blanket, her head resting on his chest. Instead of a blanket, she was covered in Gendry’s cloak. 

 

Jon raised an eyebrow and had to let out a chuckle. Sansa smirked and closed the door again.


	3. Chapter 3

Jon was reading some letters when Arya quietly let herself into the solar. She was still limping and her shoulder was still bandaged.

 

“Feeling better?” he asked, placing the letters back on the desk. 

 

Arya nodded but didn’t look at him. Instead, she moved about the room, inspecting the bookshelf, the maps on the walls and the figurines on the mantle of the fireplace. 

Jon’s eyes followed her. 

 

“What about Gendry?” he asked. 

“He’ll be fine,” Arya said, her voice distant. She stopped at Longclaw leaning next to the fireplace and traced the wolf on its pommel with her finger. 

 

Jon waited a few more seconds, but it didn’t look like Arya would say anything more, so Jon continued. 

 

“What is he to you?” he asked calmly. Ser Brienne had hinted to him earlier that she’d thought that Jon might get angry knowing that Arya had shared a bed with a man, and that he might have been angry with Brienne in particular for following Arya’s command. But after what he and Sansa had seen in Arya’s room, anger was far from Jon’s mind. Instead, he was just incredibly curious about it all. 

 

Arya dropped her hand and seemed to think for a moment. 

“He scares me,” she finally replied evenly. “Like nothing or no-one has ever scared me before.”

 

Jon scowled and sat up. 

“Has he hurt you? Arya, if he has -“ His response was cut short by the look on Arya’s face. He hadn’t seen that expression on her since he left Winterfell to join the Night’s Watch so many years ago – like he was completely and utterly stupid for what he was saying. His heart softened at seeing that look on Arya again. Some things apparently never changed. 

 

“I’ve killed three White Walkers, the waif and countless others. Even if he wanted to, Gendry could never put a finger on me unless I let him,” Arya said almost cockily. She turned her gaze back to Longclaws’ pommel and her voice went soft. “But then he’d never do anything to hurt me. He only ever wants to protect me.” 

 

Jon’s scowl remained, however. 

 

“So why does he scare you then?” 

 

Arya let out a deep breath. 

“We travelled together on the King’s Road, when Yoren wanted to take me home to Winterfell. Gendry was supposed to join the Night’s Watch. His master had sold him. We stayed together and protected each other even when we were captured and nearly tortured at Harrenhal, when we met the Brotherhood Without Banners, until the Red Witch took him. The night before the battle, I lay with him,” she said matter-of-factly. She looked back at him, and Jon’s initial surprise at her admission about knowing and then laying with Gendry turned into shock at the vulnerability in her eyes.

“I’ve seen Father beheaded, Rob and Greywind killed and mutilated, I’ve seen countless Stark men killed alongside them.”

 

She paused. 

 

“I’ve spent the last few years killing and fighting. I’ve learnt to know fear, I’ve learnt to know Death, and neither has scared me in a long time. I was even looking forward to getting to know another one of Death’s many faces.”

 

She paused once more. 

 

“But when those horns sounded, I was scared – more than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I wasn’t afraid of Death. But I was afraid that he might take Gendry. That thought was – it was impossible.” 

 

Jon’s expression softened. “You love him?” It was half a question, half a statement of fact. 

“Yes,” Arya replied quietly. 

 

A smile spread across Jon’s face. He probably should have been concerned about the fact that Arya had fallen in love with a bastard, but then the probability that Arya would be willing to marry a lord – especially without love – was essentially non-existent, so he might as well be happy for her. Besides, if he’d learnt anything the last days and months, it was that titles and station of birth were worth a damp piece of shit. 

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he asked.

Arya seemed hesitant. 

Jon stood and walked over to her. 

 

“What’s the point of fighting and facing Death when you got nothing to fight for?”


	4. Chapter 4

Arya strode purposefully through the hallways. As she crossed the entrance hall, people scuffled to make way for her. Most of them eyed her with a mixture of admiration and respect, while others – particularly the lords – watched her with intrigue and outright interest. During the Battle of Winterfell and immediately afterwards, they’d all been the same. There’d been no men and women, no lords and smallfolk, no young and old anymore – they’d all become warriors, soldiers to defend the living. Now, things were slowly returning to the way they used to be before, and with House Stark emerging as the possibly strongest house in all of Westeros from defeating the Army of the Dead, Sansa and Arya had become the focus of attention for many other houses.

 

Not that Arya cared about that much. She’d spent years becoming who she was, to finally be able to fight and ride and be how and who she wanted to be. She certainly wasn’t going to become some lord’s politically advantageous wife now.

 

Some of the ladies glanced in confusion at Arya’s outfit. Arya had chosen the bottom to consist of a pair of wide trousers that looked like a skirt when she was standing still, but allowed her to move around freely. For the first time since she could remember, she felt comfortable in her own skin as she headed for a feast in the Great Hall.

 

Gendry was speaking with Tormund on one side of the room when Arya entered.

 

“Ready for a feast to remember?” Tormund shouted at her when she joined them. He was holding a giant drinking horn that he emptied with one big gulp.

 

Arya kept her face impassive and only raised an eyebrow.

 

“I’m not sure if you will remember at this rate,” she replied coolly.

 

Tormund guffawed. “Even better!” he shouted and then stormed over to the barrels of beer in the corner of the Hall.

 

“You look beautiful,” Gendry said.

 

“Thank you,” Arya replied impassively.

 

Gendry raised an eyebrow and held out his arm for her.

 

“M’lady?” he asked with a smirk.

 

Arya rolled her eyes but finally couldn’t – and wouldn’t – stop a smile from spreading across her lips.

 

“From now on, I’m getting an arrowhead every time you call me that,” she said as she hooked her arm into his and fixed him with a challenging look.

 

Gendry only smirked.

 

“As m’lady commands.”


End file.
